


Wash It Away

by amethystkrystal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystkrystal/pseuds/amethystkrystal
Summary: In 1941, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes share a bath.Years later, the Winter Soldier is left in a tub after a mission, and for some reason, this makes him cry.





	Wash It Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goandgetthegunarchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandgetthegunarchive/gifts).



 

 

 

**1941**

"Hey!" Bucky shouted, rounding the corner and thundering down the alley. "Get the hell off him!"

The man, short but wide-set, had his back to him and barely had time to turn around before Bucky socked him right in the jaw.

"Fuck!" The man clutched his face and stumbled backwards. He was stunned only for a moment, though, before his eyes went wild with fury and he lunged at Bucky, who punched him again even harder, and this time, the man startled back, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the alley, muttering obscenities under his breath.

One he was sure the guy was gone, Bucky hurried over to where Steve laid sprawled on the ground.

"'M fine, 'm fine," Steve said, voice thick through his busted lip. He did accept Bucky's help up though, gripping tight to his arm.

Bucky looked him up and down, anger and concern both rising up in him by the second. Steve lip was split and swollen. The whole left side of his face sporting a bruise, and blood dripped steadily from his nose. He had one hand clutching his ribs while the other held onto Bucky's arm with a white-knuckled grip. To top it all off, the rain earlier that day had turned the alleyway into one giant mud puddle, and now Steve was coated with muck from head to toe.

Bucky sighed and wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders, letting him lean against him.

"Come on, pal. Let's get you home."

Steve was still fuming, but he let Bucky half-carry him out of the alley and down the street. They didn't speak until they were nearly home and Steve looked up at Bucky with a stubborn set in his jaw and said:

"I caught that asshole swiping a Hershey's from O'Malley's."

"You better hope that asshole didn't break your ribs," was all Bucky said.

When they got back to the apartment, Bucky steered Steve straight into the bathroom and set him down on the toilet seat while he started up a bath.

"Better get out of those soaked clothes," Bucky said, not looking at Steve and instead fiddling unnecessarily with the tap. "You'll catch pneumonia again."

A second later, he heard the shuffle of Steve's clothes coming off and hitting the floor. Bucky kept his eyes pointedly forward until a flash of pale skin appeared in his periphery, and Steve was coming up beside him, completely naked, about to get into the tub.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Bucky said, turning away.

And he almost managed to escape into the hall before Steve said, "You know, you might as well get in too. Save the hot water."

Very slowly, Bucky turned around. He knew what Steve was doing, knew exactly what game that asshole was starting. Because they'd played before. In the form of lingering looks and touches after too much to drink. In the form of nights spent wrapped up under the blankets together under some half-assed pretense of a broken radiator. It was the thing they didn't talk about. The thing that only came out under the cover of inebriation and darkness.

Except, now, they were stone-cold sober in the middle of the afternoon.

Steve was stretched out in the tub, eyeing Bucky with a look of challenge and _want_. Bucky was helpless against it.

"Yeah, alright." He shucked off his clothes with shaking hands and went over to the tub. Steve shifted to make room, and Bucky stepped in and settled with his back against the porcelain side.

He and Steve were facing each other now, raw and exposed in ways that went beyond their nudity. Although, there was plenty of that. Even though the water had turned murky from the mud washing off Steve, Bucky could still make out the slender frame of his chest and stomach and the golden hairs that trailed down to where his thick and rosy cock bobbed between his legs.

"Come here," Bucky murmured after a second of quiet staring. "I'll scrub your back." Steve may have started the game, but Bucky knew how to play too.

Steve gave him a fond, pleased look and grabbed the soap bar and washcloth from the shelf above the tub. He handed them to Bucky and then turned around and positioned himself right in between Bucky's legs. They were barely touching, just the light brush of Bucky's knees against Steve's thighs, but Steve's ass was hardly an inch from the tip of Bucky's cock, and Bucky had no doubt that tantalizing distance was no accident.

He got to work washing Steve's back, trying to ignore the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the stirring in his cock. He was gentle and thorough in his ministrations, clearing away the mud and dirt, letting his hand linger and move softly over the spots he could feel tension. He was slow about it, reverent, because he didn't know when or if he'd ever get to touch Steve like that again, and he wanted to make his worship known with his touch. Even if he couldn't say it with his words.

After a while, Bucky pressed the washcloth to Steve's side and said, "Want me to do your front?"

"Sure," Steve said, and Bucky was surprised by how breathless he sounded.

Steve shifted back to give Bucky a better angle to reach around his back, and though the movement was minute, it was just enough so that the crack of Steve's ass was now right up against Bucky's cock. Bucky couldn't help letting out a soft gasp at the sensation, and even though Steve's back was to him, he could tell by the twitch in his jaw that he was smirking.

Bucky started washing Steve's front using the same gentle motions as before. As he worked over his chest and stomach, he was painfully aware of every single one of Steve's tiny movements whenever he leaned back or shifted his weight. They were miniscule but each motion brought just a little more friction between the head of Bucky's cock and the flesh of Steve's ass. And he _knew_ Steve was doing it on purpose. It wasn't long at all before he was painfully hard.

When Bucky brought the washcloth below Steve's belly button, he paused. "Is this alright?"

Steve responded with a roll of his hips that pinned Bucky's cock between his ass and Bucky's stomach. "Yes."

Bucky let the washcloth drop from his hand. They were so far beyond false pretenses, beyond the line of plausible deniability. Bucky took Steve's cock in one hand and cupped his balls with the other.

" _Oh God, Buck,_ " Steve cried, head falling back on Bucky's shoulder. He arched up into Bucky's touch, and the friction that motion brought to Bucky's cock made him moan.

He started stroking up and down Steve's length, slow and steady, brushing over his balls at the same pace. Each stroke made Steve jerk and arch his hips back, which in turn caused his backside to rut against Bucky's cock. Soon, they were moving in tandem, getting each other off. Bucky's jerks turned frantic as Steve moved against Bucky's cock, uncontrolled and ungainly. The water sloshed and splashed onto the floor as they moved together. They moaned and panted, whispering nonsense to each other.

"Again, again, just like that."

"You're so good, you feel so good."

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ "

Bucky came first, with a sharp cry of "Fuck, Steve!", and even through the blinding haze of finishing, he kept on stroking Steve until the other man suddenly let out a choked-off groan and collapsed against Bucky's chest, limp and boneless.

They didn't move, didn't speak for a long while. All Bucky could hear was their labored breathing and rippling water. All Bucky could feel was the rapid beat of his heart and the lingering aftershocks of sensation in his groin.

It felt like an eternity before Steve turned to look up at Bucky and said, "I want more than this. For us."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked because he thought he knew, but he had to be certain, had to be sure Steve felt the same.

Instead of replying, Steve moved off Bucky's chest and turned so they were facing each other. With a look of unflinching determination that was pure _Steve_ , he brought a hand to Bucky's cheek and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his mouth.

By the time Bucky came to his senses, Steve had pulled away and his sure expression had faded into something hopeful and hesitant. Bucky didn't waste a second. He took Steve's face in his hands and pulled him in close, kissing him hard and sure.

Coming with Steve's body against his may have lit a blaze in him like a white hot explosion, but when Steve kissed him back and they held each other in their arms... that lit a fire inside him that Bucky didn't think could ever be put out.

  
  


____

 

 

**????**

The Soldier staggered into the safehouse, falling in line behind his Handler. His footsteps left red prints on the hardwood as they made their way into the foyer. He was covered in blood, his clothes, hair, and skin soaked and dripping with it. The mission parameters had required messiness.

His Handler started walking upstairs and the Soldier followed. Every step was agony, putting pressure on the broken bones in his feet, jostling his cracked ribs. But the Soldier made no expression of his pain. He would ignore any hurt; he would stop only when his body gave out. And his body could take a lot.

When they got upstairs, the Handler led the Soldier into a small bathroom. "Раздеваться," he commanded.

The Soldier obeyed the order to undress, removing his tac-suit and undergarments with quick, efficient motions. He did not wince when the heavy fabric of his shirt ran over the tender bruise on his shoulder. He did not cry out when the motion of bending over to remove his pants sparked hot pain in his sides.

The Handler turned on the tap for the bath, and the Soldier just stood there, blood dripping down his bare skin and staining the pure white tile.

"Залезай," the Handler barked when the tub was mostly filled, and the Soldier stepped in.

"Помойся." The Handler left a bar of soap and a washcloth on the edge of the tub and then walked away, leaving the Soldier alone.

He had been commanded to wash himself, so he soaked and lathered the washcloth and began wiping himself down in the same purposeful and efficient manner he'd stripped off his clothes. The blood on his skin mixed with water where he washed, dripping down his body in pink rivulets and soon the the bathwater was clouded with red.

To get a better angle at scrubbing his upper thigh, the Soldier leaned back against the wall of the tub, and when his bare shoulders touched the cool, smooth porcelain, he heard a voice.

" _Oh God, Buck!"_

The Soldier lurched up, tense and alert, splashing water onto the floor. But the room was empty.

His heart began to pound wildly. Images, unexpected and unbidden, appeared suddenly in his mind in hazy, ruthless flashes. A bath with water tinged brown instead of red. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Bony shoulders and a narrow waist.

The Soldier squeezed his eyes shut, and lolled against the side of the tub. He was shaking uncontrollably. His head felt like it was about to split open.

After a moment, he realized there was wetness on his face. Except… he hadn't submerged his head. But there was no mistaking the damp streaks that ran down his cheeks. The Soldier ignored pain. The Soldier didn't know what sadness was. So the Soldier did not cry.

And, yet, the Soldier could not stop the tears that spilled from his eyes.

The Soldier laid there for a long while, leaning over the edge of the tub, motionless in the bloodied water. A single thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over, overwhelming and unrelenting. It was a single word, a name, and also, it was a feeling, a sensation, a truth that ran bone deep.

_Steve_

_Steve_

_Steve_

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Goandgetthegun's beautifully evocative art of Bucky in a bathtub which is currently a WIP you can view [here](https://twitter.com/goandgetthegun/status/1099877914789568513).


End file.
